


Equilibrium

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, Drama, Drama & Romance, Duel Monsters, Feudalism, Good Writing, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Original Mythology, Pride, Rituals, Samurai, Slow To Update, Supernatural Elements, Swordfighting, Tendershipping, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: Destroying demons was their life's work, but for a demon too powerful to be killed, the most they could do was bind it to the strongest among them. / AU Tendershipping, samurai!Ryou x demon!Bakura





	1. Like Pride

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written and published 11-11-11 and currently consists of two installments, with more potentially to come depending on reader interest. The story and its notes are reproduced below as they first appeared.
> 
> A/N: This is a multi-chapter, Tendershipping (Ryou x Bakura) story based off a fictional, vaguely feudal AU where Ryou is a samurai and Bakura is a demon. This was originally written as a birthday drabble for _Ryou VeRua_ , but I've expanded it to become the opening chapter. Additionally, I'd like to thank _Mahayana_ for some really helpful conversations that smoothed over a few rough patches in the story's framework.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**_Equilibrium_ **

_Chapter I: Like Pride_

* * *

There was only the truth, and the future that could only be preserved through balance and peace, that in turn was gained through fighting and the sword. The three went hand in hand— _truth, balance, sword_ —yet with only two hands to hold them, one was seemingly always abandoned by each who hunted for the combination. Equilibrium was a word he didn't learn until he considered himself old, although he was the youngest in his class by far, and there were many creatures in the world that were practically ageless for the many human lifetimes they had lived.

When Ryou was much younger, he thought the world was an enormous place, waiting for him with extended arms. If those arms were ever to raise against him, he would cut them down with his sword.

They told stories about demons. True, the stories were called _lessons_ , but when Ryou joined a small delegation to one of the nearby towns to exterminate a mass of slug-demons that had been impinging on the season's harvest, he learned firsthand that for each one destroyed, a new demon would take its place the following day.

The world was not built up of pieces to share, it was instead populated by creatures who took what they wanted, disrupted the cycle of so-carefully wrought balance, and it was not only the responsibility of their temple to destroy such creatures, it was their mission.

He had thought the world was enormous, but now he realized that it didn't matter how large it was, because he would never make it farther than the mountains visible from the roof of the tallest building in the temple complex.

* * *

From his seat in the corner, Ryou yawned. He covered the motion with the back of one hand, simultaneously scratching an itch on his nose, the remaining hand scribbling away, copying scrolls. By now he could recite them in his sleep—and probably had—but as the older scrolls aged and decayed, new ones had to be prepared to replace them, and as time passed even more history was gathered and added to the collection.

He thought about doodling something in the margins, then repressed the thought just as quickly. Chances were, anyone reading them would invariably think it was an actual part of the original scroll, and that would have defeated the entire purpose of the doodle to begin with. He breathed in the smell of the musty paper, curling the edge back with one finger. Beside him, hunched forward so deeply that his nose nearly brushed the paper, was Junta, lucky enough to have been given one of the more interesting scrolls to copy. Ryou looked at his own again. Supply ledgers. They would surely benefit from some doodles.

He spent his afternoon training, focusing on technique and refining each movement, thinking not of battling demons but sparring against each of his classmates in turn, defeating them all and moving through the ranks of instructors. He fought each invisible opponent until he had exhausted them all, remembering the written histories and bringing up the long-dead warriors from the scrolls, confronting each until there was no one left he could even think of to fight. He could not fight himself, and could think of no other worthy enough.

His food tasted incredibly bitter to him that day. It bothered him more than it should have, and he washed it all down with a cup of over-brewed tea.

"Isn't it obvious?" Junta said, blinking owlish eyes as he glanced at each of them in turn, past Maki to linger on Ryou. "Satou let slip that we're all to be tested soon, and you wish to do well. You look sick. Do you feel sick, Ryou?"

"No," he said calmly, not wanting their attention and sorry that he'd garnered it in such a way in the first place. "Not at all."

Satisfied, they nodded and no one brought it up again, but inside Ryou's stomach something churned at the knowledge that he _did_ feel sick, whether from exhaustion or dehydration or illness, yet at one word any claims had been dismissed, because they believed that each word that left the mouth of one of their own was the truth, delivered selflessly, and to do anything else would be to challenge the practice of centuries.

Yet Ryou was a fighter, so that was what he did. He stood alongside the other students, training with them, studying with them, and joined them in watching some of the most veteran teachers practice. They made it look so easy, and he considered then if it really was easy for them, and why that level of effortlessness seemed so difficult for him.

His fingers ached from gripping a pen, his knuckles ached from clasping a _bokken_ , and when he stretched both, pressing his fingers in towards his palms to hear the crack, he found it comforting, and wondered why.

No one would have understood why he felt the need to add something irrelevant to the margins of the ledgers, or lie to the others to suit his own needs, or imagine his own proud history laid out in new scrolls in the collection, copied by trainees in centuries to come. He did it because he could.

* * *

Ryou had never felt as comfortable as when he held a sword in his hands, fighting alongside the other adepts housed in the training temple, but even a _bokken_ felt at home in his grip as he trained.

His hair lightly stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck from sweat, but he accepted his teacher's approving words with satisfaction. They were taught to abandon such emotions, to focus on only the pure or positive and shun gratification, but a part of Ryou secretly boasted his success and enjoyed his achievements. He was fortunate that his teacher was the temple's master, and whenever the strongest faced a particularly formidable demon he was always the one who led the charge. Ryou himself had handled a few smaller demons entirely on his own, and it was thrilling to realize such power.

He knew why they did what they did, however—he'd heard stories of demons so fierce their very existence threatened the world's safety. Such creatures had to be contained, and their temple stood for nothing less than this.

"Ryou, you are progressing well," his master told him. "Soon you will be among the top of our pupils."

"I am already the strongest," he said, confident his words were true. "I am the strongest of anyone here!"

If his master was taken aback by the claim, he did not show it, limiting his reaction to slightly widened eyes. "Do you truly believe that?"

"I do," he said, nodding furiously.

At his training the following day, his master was late. Ryou waited patiently, beginning to practice his _kata_ while he waited. The movements grew more elaborate, and as he spun he caught sight of his master standing against the wall, his hands clasped behind his back.

Curious, Ryou asked about his overly-solemn mood, and received a cryptic answer in return.

"If there is ever a day to be solemn, it is today, Ryou. Walk with me."

They did, heading to the oldest building in the complex, set away from the central temple. According to legend, this was the original structure, but was deemed unsafe after a battle with a powerful demon nearly a hundred years ago. The students were convinced it was haunted, so no one approached the site out of either fear or respect.

Through the trees the old edifice came into view, and Ryou was shocked to see that it seemed in fairly decent condition. There was a distinct slope to the roof, and much of the paint was worn away, but he could sense the latent power in the area. He struggled to find its source—was it the ground? The building itself? Or even something within it?

"Ryou, before we progress any further, I must ask you something." The two stood before the building, and as the wind picked up a few yellowed leaves dropped from the trees around them to land at their feet. "Our organization exists for one purpose. Yet there is a deeper mission, which has traditionally been trusted to our strongest warrior and none other. I would like to offer this to you."

He glanced once at the building, the decision made the instant the sentence had been completed. How could he refuse such a promise? The smallest of doubts lingered in his mind, telling him that if he had not made that boast, perhaps he would not have been chosen for such a task, but he knew he had it within him to handle whatever it was. He was the strongest, after all, so he believed—he could handle anything.

"Yes," he said. "I would be honored."

He led Ryou inside, where they paused in a small antechamber. There were a few lights scattered around the room, yet it still seemed so dark. "Some demons are too powerful for us to kill. The most we can do is seal them, bind them to a single person to be their guardian and to control them and their power. We house the strongest demon of them all—and now, he shall be your responsibility."

Ryou paled, but his master's hand was at his back, pushing him inside the central room. Inside, the demon was chained to a series of posts in the middle of the room, and as he walked inside the light seemed to be sucked from the room. The demon looked so familiar, his white hair and pale skin standing out in the darkness. Ryou knew that demons often impersonated humans, and this one was apparently interested enough to have formed his _own_ likeness.

"My name is Ryou," he said. "Who are you?"

"Bakura." The syllables were elongated in his speech, the word hissed into the silence. Ryou filled it further as he walked, each footstep creaking over the wooden floor.

"I am your new keeper," Ryou said, finding himself completely enthralled and repelled by the demon before him. If he had any sense, he would be worried, knowing what the demon was capable of.

"Are you ready to let me out?" the demon said, his grin seeming to make use of every one of his sharp teeth. "I would like to greet you properly."

"You won't be unchained until the binding ceremony." His master joined them now, lingering at the room's edges, walking between the shadows cast from dim lamps hung from alternating posts set into the walls. Ryou could barely see him, but latched onto his voice as Bakura's own rasped with laughter.

"And then not ever again, if I have anything to say about it," he continued.

"Then it is lucky," Bakura said, relaxing against the dull clanking of chains, "that it is not up to you." His eyes sought Ryou's, managing to make him feel uncomfortable in what was still fundamentally his own home. He struggled to remember all of the different scrolls he had read, searching for any information about a captive demon in the temple's history, and came up with nothing. He was willing to bet it was because there _were_ no records—that most of those fighting or training here had no idea just what was held here barely a mile from their beds.

"Ryou, a word." His master was by his side again, grasping an elbow to lead him back to the antechamber and through to the exterior, standing under the sloped eaves.

"Your word?" Ryou stood as straight as he was able, trying not to think of the demon who copied his own appearance, thinking over and over again _, I am already the strongest_ , _I am the strongest of anyone here_.

"You accepted this honor before you truly knew what it was," he said. "You will be bound to this demon for conceivably the rest of your life."

"How long?" Quickly, he clarified his question. "How long has this demon been here? How long have members of our brotherhood stood watch over it? Which number am I?"

His master stopped, regarding Ryou with stern, rueful eyes. "The demon used to call his keepers by number. He has your name, now—who knows, he might actually use it. If there are things you want to know, you should ask him. He will be bound to you—his power will be under your control and he must follow your command."

"My command…"

The thought was strangely appealing. He would have power, more power than he'd ever had in his life and more than he knew what to do with.

* * *

He barely remembered the ceremony—the second he had felt the power flooding his veins, Bakura's pale, too-familiar hand clutched tightly to his own, bound together with rope instead of the chains that had once kept him secure inside the dilapidated building. Ryou had all but fainted, so dazed and shaky that his vision had swam before his eyes and he could barely recall his actions before he had ended up back in his bed in the dormitory, struggling to keep his breathing even, to keep from seeing a matched set of cruel, dark eyes every time he closed his own.

He could feel it—the power humming along beneath his skin, _Bakura's_ power, all for him, for the strongest. The demon had given him the strangest look throughout it all, this at least he could remember clearly. He had kept eye contact, seeming to tell him without words, _how is this for a proper greeting?_

He climbed out of bed and found clean clothes to change into, before wandering down to where some of the others were training. He joined them, throwing himself into their fight.

He could follow their movements faster now; he could move faster himself, and defeated them all soundly. It was not even work, anymore, not when the strength of humans could in no way compare to having a demon's power at his disposal. He needed a better opponent, one more suited to his circumstance.

"Ryou!" Junta climbed to his feet, wincing as he tested the elbow he'd landed on. "Where did _that_ come from?"

The words threatened to spill out of his mouth, to tell them it was not that he was strong but that they were weak, but his master had told him that starting tomorrow his time would be spent guarding the demon, and he could not share the news of his recent responsibilities with anyone else, not when Bakura's own anonymity was the first defense against one of the adepts coming across his path.

"I've always had it," he said, watching as Junta shrugged and accepted his words. It was too easy, easier than he thought it would be, to leave them behind in their own world of copying scrolls and training with _bokken_. If the others were to be tested, it would only be to undertake smaller missions, or assist in training the younger ones. The cycle would perpetuate itself, and only he stood outside it.

"Been holding back on us, then?"

"I try not to."

He knew one person who would never hold back on him—technically not even a person, but something more and something less. Someone he wanted to see, the first chance he got. He had questions he wanted answered, and while Ryou was patient enough to wait he would not wait for long. He glanced at one wrist, at the marks from the rope still lingering on the skin.

He was the strongest, he was the strongest of them all. Now no one could dispute his claim.

That day, his food only tasted sweet.

* * *

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1) The demons and monsters will all be adapted from different duel monsters (the 'slug-demons' are inspired by the card _Needle Worm_ ). The 'ceremony' to bind Bakura to Ryou was inspired by the cards _Soul Exchange_ and _Enemy Controller_.
> 
> 2) Thanks for taking the time to read! I promise future chapters will be much longer. =) I would appreciate and value your reviews!


	2. Like Truth

_Chapter II: Like Truth_

* * *

Ryou watched the others return from a demon-hunting expedition—the carcass of an Abaki must be purified for it to be fully dead and no longer a threat to them, and the most practiced elders would ensure that it happened before nightfall. He sat on the grass by the side of one of the temple buildings, overlooking the hillside where the others walked, single-file, and reached down to pluck a blade of grass from the ground with two fingers.

Two more would sprout in its place before long. He rolled the thin blade between his fingers, feeling the texture, rougher on one side when he dragged his thumb upward. The hillside and the forest beyond were covered with grasses, some as tall as his waist, and trees with thick trunks and tall branches that seemed to scrape against the clouds served as houses for the demons there.

He cast the grass aside and reached for a blue flower, nestled against the green. He snapped the stem and raised it closer to his face. Stretching out his feet, he glanced to either side. No other flowers grew along this stretch of grass that he could see. He doubted another would ever grow to replace it.

He tucked the flower inside his sash, slipping it between two layers of fabric. It didn't seem right, to just toss it away like it had meant nothing.

* * *

The demon was right where he'd left him, bound to the column in the center of the darkened room. He shot Ryou a look, and relaxed his arms slightly to rattle the chains.

"You've taken your time returning, samurai," he said. "What could possibly be more important?"

"I'm not going to release you." Ryou had made the decision upon waking that morning, and resolved to keep it. "You don't have a right to freedom. I am not going to risk the safety of this temple by removing those chains. I will watch you and safeguard your power, as is my charge."

Bakura scoffed, "You are hardly using it. It is going to waste in your care. What have you done but scratch the surface? Tell me. I want to know."

"That is not your concern." Ryou folded his arms behind his back, all the more conscious of their difference in position, with him still standing and Bakura leaning back against the wooden column. He made it look comfortable, but Ryou would never be so at ease in the demon's presence to allow himself to replicate the gesture. "I am not here to be your companion, or your advocate, or your informer."

"Oh?" Bakura raised one slim eyebrow. "What are you here for, then? Do you even know?"

"I am your keeper. I have questions for you; there are some things I want to know. You will answer them."

"You've been ignoring _my_ questions, Ryou. Why then should I answer yours?"

Bakura's use of his name was unsettling. Ryou had been wondering if he would use it, and what it would sound like as he spoke it. There was power and familiarity in using someone's name, and the demon knew it. Ryou would not rise to his bait. He did not want to hear himself speak the demon's name.

"You _will_ answer them. I can make things very difficult for you if you resist."

"Strange," Bakura said. "You did not mention serving as my _jailer._ " He grinned, as if challenging Ryou further, and refused to look away when their eyes met. "But very well. Ask me your questions."

"How many keepers have you had before me?" he asked.

"Most were less than capable." Bakura's tone was airy, almost conversational as he drew out each word. "They run together. Many died young, you see—your instructor is an anomaly there. His company was disagreeable, I could never engage him in conversation. Not like you."

"The _number_. Please." His patience grew whisper-thin, and he wondered why he had ever been curious to know more about Bakura when everything he did seemed to reinforce Ryou's dislike of him.

"You are the fourteenth. Since you asked so nicely."

"And how long have you been here?" There was a lantern glowing in the antechamber, visible through the open door, and Ryou focused on its flickering light instead of looking at Bakura.

"Now, for that you'll need to be more specific," he said. "I have lived for so many thousands of years, you'll excuse me if the time runs together. I believe I took up residence in this area several centuries ago—there are some caves, in the mountains—although I would come to the forest to hunt. I believe that shortly after, your temple began its operations. Now, the _success_ of those operations is relative—"

Ryou glanced at him sharply. "I would argue that since you are here, there is nothing to doubt. Now, answer the question. You know what I meant."

"Simplicity and straightforwardness is important, Ryou. If I am going to teach you anything, I suppose I should start with that. Ask exactly what you want to know, and you will get the answers you seek. And do sit down, if you're feeling weary." The chains clanked together as Bakura gestured to the open space in front of him.

"Do not think I don't know what you are trying to do. You—you think you can _mold_ me, that I am impressionable enough to listen to you?" The floor creaked as Ryou took a step forward, leaning over Bakura and forcing him to tilt his head up to maintain their unbroken eye contact. "It is no wonder my master advised that I not speak to you."

"I do not _think_ that, Ryou," Bakura said, and Ryou flinched at the use of his name. He nodded in satisfaction. "Of all my _caretakers_ , I would say that I prefer your spirit. I am also enjoying wearing your face—"

Ryou's hands, kept firmly clenched together behind his back, withdrew to punch Bakura solidly across the face. Afterward, he stared at his hands as if uncertain about what they had just done, and took a step backward. His breathing was too quick, too loud, and he focused on regulating that, hating the look in Bakura's eyes when he turned his head back to regard him directly. Ryou wondered if his own face would ever look like that, all sharp angles and ascended ego, unswerving and meaningful and sinister. Suddenly, he wanted to be as far away from the demon as he could.

"I-I'll be back." He stepped towards the door.

"But I thought you wished for me to answer your questions?" Bakura's leering grin cut through the darkness, his eyes reflecting light as they seemed to glow red for a moment. The punch had not even marked his face. "I can tell from your expression, you still have a few left."

"I am no longer interested."

"Ah, you lie. I don't even need to see your face to know the truth there."

"And what do you know of truth?" he asked.

"More than you. Come back when you have something worth my involvement."

" _Worth your_ —" He could feel Bakura's gaze on his back as he left, turned and stormed away in refusal to watch his face on that demon, listen to him speak his own name with a voice that sounds so much like his but still so wrong, to supply his _entertainment_. His words would be hard enough to grasp if they came from someone else, but when faced with a specter of himself, it was near impossible.

Especially when he was right. Ryou couldn't think that right now, it was too dangerous to even consider, but the thought crept inside, insidious and reproachful.

He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon training, and didn't like it when the act of sending Junta and two other adepts crashing to the floor made him feel better. Restraining his tension was made harder by the fact that there was no one he could speak to about it, save his master and the demon whose power hummed alongside his veins, neither of whom he wanted to consult.

But one of them he could not afford to avoid for long.

* * *

Bakura continued their conversation as if nothing had happened to disrupt it. "When you hit me, you should have used my power—it would have left a lovely mark. You could have damaged me, but I don't think the thought even occurred to you."

"It hadn't," was the honest response.

"Pity." Bakura looked bored, now, and it raised Ryou's ire. He knew it was irrational— _knew_ the demon was doing it fully on purpose—but it irked him that he was not enough to keep Bakura's full attention.

"You won't have the opportunity again," he continued.

Well, Bakura had _his_ attention. "What?"

"You think you have the power here—and you do, but just because you have _my_ power does not mean that you have power over _me_." His every gesture was languid and measured—lifting an arm to cradle the back of his head, swiping his tongue across his top teeth. "That's something else I shouldn't have to teach you, but will."

"There's not a thing you can teach me I don't already know." And Ryou didn't know where the thought came from, couldn't trace the genesis of it if he tried, but Bakura was giving him that unconvinced look again and he felt empowered. "And that's not something you can prove."

"Oh?" The way he said it was far too delicate. "…Pity."

"The temple's masters are going after a tribe of Warwolves that have been causing trouble in the surrounding villages." Ryou wondered just what exactly he was doing, but he wanted to change the conversation and he spoke about the first thing his mind latched on to.

"How nice for them." His expression remained disinterested, but his eyes were telling. Ryou thought he was getting better at reading him.

"I thought you might like to know something about what's going on outside these walls." And he tapped the closest one with the back of his right hand, still standing, listening to the muted sound. "Unless staring at them is enough for you. It wouldn't be, for me."

"How nice for _you_." He leaned his head to the left to stretch the muscles in his neck. "How does it feel, to be left out of that?" He grinned, like he suddenly found a vulnerable place in Ryou's armor. "Not that it would matter, of course. You still refuse to actually _use_ my power. I'd love to see you in action, you know. It would be thrilling."

"That will never happen," Ryou said.

Bakura sighed, glancing away, bored again, leaving the rest unspoken— _what a pity, what a pity_.

* * *

It didn't feel right to just waste it.

He found himself on the hill overlooking the main temple buildings, and combed a hand through the grass, enjoying the sharp sweetness of the air. There were no flowers growing here, and for that he was almost glad. The petals were beautiful and delicate, good for little more than looking at; he supposed some insects might use them for food, but even more would be crushed under the feet of the other students without even noticing their existence at all. And what did that say, that someone like him would pay more attention to a tiny flower than to the more pressing matters concerning their way of life? The demons were growing too powerful, and the newer adepts were not strong enough to defeat anything stronger than a Cat's Ear Tribe on their own. Traveling and fighting in large groups gave them an advantage over more powerful enemies, but it hindered their speed and ultimately allowed those same enemies to escape.

Ryou knew he could never join a hunting group, not when he could not explain the source of his power. To them all, Bakura could not exist. They could not see him.

They did not _have_ to see him.

A plan began to grow in his mind the more he thought about it, a way to stretch the demon's dormant muscles and find a use for all that power. It was no good to either of them unless it could be put to good use, and he knew Bakura would approve of it—and that didn't worry him as much as he knew it should have—and they could simultaneously destroy the very creatures that plagued their region.

It was creative, using a demon to destroy other demons, and if their power was truly so fearsome there would be none who could stand in their way. He could save whole villages, make a name for himself as their strongest warriors had. Filled with anticipation, he made for his master's quarters, determined to share his plans.

* * *

Their conversation had gone as well as he expected, but Ryou was not discouraged. Standing outside of the dilapidated building, its exterior marred by the evidence of burns and environmental damage, he paced, crunching dead leaves underfoot.

" _I can contain him," he had argued, "and should he prove unyielding we will stop. I only ask for the opportunity to try."_

" _I worry for you, Ryou," his master said. "When I saw him wearing your face I almost could not tell you apart. And now that you are bound, his aura surrounds you. I do not doubt that you could keep him in check, but I worry that the conditions placed on your bond would inhibit his fighting. He is bound to follow your orders, and cannot directly hurt you—if you fight and get hurt alongside him, would that count as an violation? He could take advantage of this to test those limitations."_

" _I am sure he will." Ryou stood straight, his hands folded behind his back, watching his master's face intently. "But isn't it just as important for us to be conscious of these limitations as well? So we can better keep them?"_

" _You are the demon's keeper, Ryou," his master said, "and consequently you alone shall have the decision, and the liability."_

The decision was easy, but he was unsure how Bakura would respond. Hopefully, with gratitude.

As he walked inside the building, past the antechamber into the main room, he could hear Bakura humming something, some outdated melody. He stopped when Ryou paused before him, unspeaking.

Ryou thought he might be ready to cross that line. Slowly, he sank into a seated position across from him, tucking his legs underneath his body and resting his arms loosely by his sides.

Bakura's eyes widened slightly. "Decided to finally join me, did you?"

"You have it wrong." Ryou tried to sound dispassionate, but he could not keep the interest from creeping into his voice. " _You_ will be joining _me_. Tomorrow, we hunt Warwolves."

"What?"

Ryou took pleasure in surprising Bakura. He allowed the smallest of grins to lift the corners of his mouth, and leaned an inch closer. " _Tomorrow, we hunt Warwolves_."

Bakura reciprocated the gesture, but his own expression was far more satisfied. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Later that evening he sorted through his clothes and found the crumpled flower in the fabric of one of his sashes. The petals were all ripped and the stem was bent; it was no longer beautiful, but that didn't make it any less a flower.

He repeated the thought to himself like a mantra as he closed his eyes to sleep.

 _Tomorrow we hunt Warwolves_.

* * *

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1) The demons mentioned in this chapter are from the cards _Abaki_ , _Cat's Ear Tribe_ , and the _Gene-Warped Warwolf_ , all of which are either Beast-type or Beast-Warrior type monsters.
> 
> 2) Thank you for reading. I would appreciate and value your reviews!
> 
> ~Jess


End file.
